The Absolute
by Aradatm
Summary: Vacation had never entailed getting trapped in a cellar with Doctor effing Reid and the lunatic that kidnapped them, no, not in Hotchner's book.
1. Preface Part 1

**Disclaimers & Warnings:**

I do not own Criminal Minds or its characters.

Hotchner & Reid as main characters story, spelling & grammar errors, OC unsub, & cursing.

**The Absolute**

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**Summary:**

Vacation had never entailed getting trapped in a cellar with Doctor effing Reid and the lunatic that kidnapped them, no, not in Hotchner's book.

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**PREFACE PART 1**

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Hotchner was not having a good day – after all, getting kidnapped by every other unsub in the country was Reid's forte, not Hotchner's. Getting drugged and shot in the leg were also Reid's specialties – Hotchner's was getting stabbed nine effing times by a narcissist that later on killed his ex-wife just because. And when did vacation ever involve getting stuck in a cellar with no one, but, Spencer Reid and the effing lunatic who kidnapped them in the first place, as company?

Certainly not Hotchner's…

"So you're FBI, are ya?"

Reid nodded, playing Hotchner's poker face (to which Hotchner raised a curious brow) – seemingly the epitome of calm. "We are, sir." Polite, sincere.

The unsub spared Reid a glance, disinterested. He looked toward Hotchner. "Big ass job you guys got – huge expectations, am I right, boss-man?" He watched him expectantly.

"That's right," even though he wasn't quite sure what the man meant.

"What exactly do you mean by _huge expectations_, sir?" Hotchner eyed Reid wearily – curious mind, big mouth. The unsub half-turned.

He licked at his lips, considered. Reid was sitting up in his chair, back straight. The unsub's eyes glimmered and Hotchner suddenly had a bad feeling. "Well, like I said before. FBI's a big job," he began, voice raised a pitch. "You guys gotta catch all the bad guys – serial killers, psychos, rapists, child molesters, get me?"

"We get you." No hesitation, no fear, just mild curiosity. Hotchner had to wonder.

The unsub nodded his approval and continued, "But don't you guys break under pressure? I know I would have." He started to giggle.

Reid was slightly wide-eyed now. Nervous. _Freak__ed_. "Break under pressure?" Hotchner wished he would stop asking or just shut up all together.

"Yeah," the unsub was grinning like a loony, "I would've snapped – would've asked myself a long time ago, why are we _just _putting these guys behind bars…?" He let himself trail off and pulled out a knife from his back-pocket.

The unsub started to creep over to Reid. Hotchner half-expected Reid to tremble or beg and when he did neither those things (only staring at the knife warily), Hotchner half-expected himself to be surprised. He wasn't though. To be honest, he thought of it as a typical Reid-reaction like the whole _been there, done that_ kind of thing.

Still…

"They will find you, you know." He had to at least _try _to help Reid. "And when they do, you'll be charged with the murders of two FBI agents." He made sure his voice was loud.

The unsub snapped his head to Hotchner. He glared. Hotchner stared back, a childish urge to raise his brow as if to say _that's supposed to scare me_? Intimidation, after all, was also Hotchner's forte. The unsub lurched over to him. _Like a damned drunk_.

Cold hands caught hold of Hotchner's neck and he wondered if he was going to die here in a cellar with a lunatic and Doctor effing Reid – Reid's weak cries of protests playing like background music in Hotchner's head. "They can't find us, agent Hotchner," the unsub hissed into his ear.

"My team," he choked as the unsub started to try and strangle him – what was it with unsubs and not letting him finish his damn sentences (at least the ones that began with _my team_)? Foyet sure started _some_ trend there.

"Your team what – they were wrong about the profile before, and they're still wrong now! Your team isn't perfect, agent _Hotchner_," he spat out his name like it was something goddamn awful.

"Why exactly are you keeping us here, _Charlie_?" And just like that the unsub's hands dropped, his eyes darting around the room wildly until they landed on Reid – Doctor_-effing-screw-Hotchner-when-he-was-just-trying-to-do-the-right-thing-_Reid.

"_Reid_," and he really wished he could muster his FBI-please-don't-fuck-with-me tone but it only came out as weariness and he had to cough and sputter and hack because his throat still throbbed with the pain of almost getting strangled to death.


	2. Preface Part 2

**Disclaimers & Warnings:**

I do not own Criminal Minds or its characters.

Hotchner & Reid as main characters story, spelling & grammar errors, OC unsub, & cursing.

**The Absolute**

**.**

**.**

**Summary:**

Vacation had never entailed getting trapped in a cellar with Doctor effing Reid and the lunatic that kidnapped them, no, not in Hotchner's book.

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**PREFACE PART 2**

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"How you know my name?" The unsub glanced at him suspiciously.

"You're Charlie Lassiter – 31 years old with an average height, weight, and build. Your life has been nothing but _average_ here in Chicago so far. You work in a _mundane_ paper factory for a living and just recently, you moved away from your step-mother."

There seemed to be a heavy-weighted kind of silence lingering in the air as the unsub lumbered over to Reid. His left eye seemed to give a short spasm. "You calling me average, doc?" And, God, Hotchner hoped Reid wouldn't say anything stupid.

"No, sir," and of course, Hotchner had nothing to worry about because Reid seemed to excel in these types of situations, "Just the slip of the tongue – won't happen again, sir."

And just like that, the man stopped and turned to Hotchner. Seemingly disinterested in anything else Reid had to say, _if_ he had anything left to say at all. "So, the doctor been doing his homework. What 'bout you, boss-man?" Hotchner narrowed his eyes a fraction. "Got anything else to add?"

"We also know you led a happy life-style for the first nine years," Reid offered helpfully.

Charlie barely spared him a glance this time. "Happy, did you hear that, boss-man? I had a happy life. Wanna tell me more? Share my life story and all that?" Hotchner could tell he was itching for a fight. "What else you _profilers _got on me?"

"We know you're the kind of person that hates authority figures," Hotchner finally supplied, "and that something major happened in your life to make you become a murderer of one local cop."

Charlie laughed. "This what you call profiling?"

Hotchner shook his head. Face a blank mask – Reid could easily see where this was heading. "I'm not done. Your father was in the FBI for thirteen years and your mother was a part-time school nurse and while it _seemed_ like a happy life on the outside, it was anything but. It wasn't that you were abused or yelled at because both parents did love you – more than most other parents would've. It was the fact that neither parents spent as much time with you as they did arguing with each other." Hotchner, as always, over-the-_damn_-top.

Charlie seemed stupefied. "S-stop it," he stuttered and that was when Hotchner knew he couldn't, that he _had_ Charlie.

"Your mother filed for divorce when you were eight and a half, Charlie," Hotchner said forcefully.

"Sh-Shuddup!"

And Reid could hear, _somewhere_, in the back of his mind, that old chess playing-term _check and mate, _sir.

"Soon after she left you and your father, she filed for custody over you. But what was more logical at the time, your mother, whom by then, was jobless and an alcoholic or a father working a steady job at the FBI?" Hotchner seemed relentless. It was almost like he was telling his own story except Haley wasn't a drunk and Haley was able to keep Jack. _Until she was murdered by a psycho that is_. "You may have loved your mother more, but your father loved you just as much – you shouldn't blame him-,"

And that was the trigger, the step it took for him to explode. Suddenly, Charlie was anything but a gaping, sobbing mess. "Think I got daddy issues, do ya?" He snarled, taking a menacing step toward the black haired profiler, all focus on Hotchner. "Think you got me all figured out?"

"I don't think," Hotchner was all that calm before the storm. "I know. And so does he," he nodded toward Reid. "Everyone knows, Charlie."

Charlie's face seemed to darken at that and Reid knew he was the kind of person that would easily take the baits Hotchner dished out. _Was this the right thing to do_? Hotchner probably didn't care much at this point, patience having run out ages ago. "But to your mother's credit, she spent more time with you than any of your relatives before the divorce," again, Charlie's attention snapped over to Reid.

Hotchner wondered how much more he'd owe the younger profiler before all of this was over. He certainly hoped it wouldn't add up to _too much_ because he knew Strauss still owed him a _real _vacation. "You're right, doc. She did spend more than her fair share with me. God, bless her heart," he said, visibly relaxing.


	3. Preface Part 3

**Disclaimers & Warnings:**

I do not own Criminal Minds or its characters.

Hotchner & Reid as main characters story, spelling & grammar errors, OC unsub, & cursing.

**The Absolute**

**.**

**.**

**Summary:**

Vacation had never entailed getting trapped in a cellar with Doctor effing Reid and the lunatic that kidnapped them, no, not in Hotchner's book.

**.**

**.**

**PREFACE PART 3**

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"But that's not the full extent of the story, is it, Charlie? Had it just ended in your parents' divorce, you'd still be fine – maybe a little scarred, but you'd have been able to pick yourself back up and lived a _normal_, healthy life."

Charlie froze. Hotchner continued, undeterred. "The truth of the matter is, Charlie, you're a scared and naïve boy, deep down. Your father went MIA right after he re-married to a woman named Stephanie Lois – your step-mother." Hotchner knew he should stop adding fuel to the fire. "I think, Charlie – no, I _know_," his voice was harsh – why wasn't he stopping yet? "Deep down, you don't actually blame your father."

Hotchner's breathing was ragged by the end. Charlie was a sputtering mess now, rage in his eyes. "Y-y-you think y-you know m-me?" He staggered over to Hotchner, determination fueling every dreaded step. "Think y-your profile c-can help you n-now?"

Hotchner wasn't prepared with what happened next - the movements had been nothing but a huge blur - when Charlie had suddenly leapt on top of him; the weight of both men sending the chair crashing backwards, crushing both of Hotchner's arms underneath it and Hotchner had to bite down the urge to scream from the overwhelming pain. "Think your team can still save you?" And Hotchner knew there was something wrong there, with the way the man had said it. But then Charlie was straddling him, arm bent past his head like he was getting ready for a swing, hand clenched into a fist. "Think the doc can save you from this one?"

And then Hotchner realized with a sick certainty that Charlie's whole demeanor had changed from mentally unstable predictability to mentally unstable _un_predictability. God, what the hell had he gotten himself into? "Nighty-night, boss-man," Charlie whispered and with a giggle, he swung with full-force and he could hear a sickening crack as his knuckles met with Hotchner's flesh. The black-haired agent then slumped back, surrendering himself almost instantly to oblivion.

And Charlie was grinning like there was no tomorrow, turning to find Reid struggling impatiently with his bonds. "Now, now, doc," the man crooned, "what's the hurry? I told that boss-man of yours," he gestured vaguely at the unconscious agent on the floor, "his profile wouldn't help him because it isn't true."

Reid turned rigid as the unsub started to crawl over, icy blue eyes glinting dangerously. "Care to take another guess, doc?"

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**END OF PREFACE**

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	4. Chapter 1, Part 1 Charlie

**AN: **Just to let you all know, these chapters will be set up in parts. The preface was set in three seperate parts as well which is why the 'chapters' were short. I'm not sure how many parts I'll set up as one chapter, probably will depend on how much I write that day or something. Well, I figured you guys might want the first chapter up so here it is. The FIRST part of chapter one.

**EDIT 7:53 PM: **I had to fix the cop/Charlie conversation a little.

**Disclaimers & Warnings:**

I do not own Criminal Minds or its characters.

Hotchner & Reid as main characters story, spelling & grammar errors, OC unsub, & cursing.

**The Absolute**

**.**

**.**

**Summary:**

Vacation had never entailed getting trapped in a cellar with Doctor effing Reid and the lunatic that kidnapped them, no, not in Hotchner's book.

**.**

**.**

**CHAPTER ONE**: CHARLIE

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"Keep the change, ma'am." There was a clattering of coins as he dumped out the contents of his pocket onto the counter. He smiled at the woman behind the cash register as she scrambled to pick up the quarters and nickels and dimes and a penny before retrieving his little plastic bag and heading out the store.

When he was out, he took out one of the candy lollipop he had bought. Charlie examined it in his hand for a moment. He liked pretty things, he couldn't help it and lollipops sure were pretty to look at. He tore off the wrapper before dumping it disinterestedly onto the ground and put the candy into his mouth. They tasted pretty too, maybe even prettier than he imagined.

Charlie walked a couple more blocks before he came across a bus stop. Charlie barely ever drove these days so he liked taking the bus sometimes. Besides, it was usually a long walk home and he decided he had enough walking for the day. He counted only four other people waiting for the bus which coincidentally turned out to be all guys.

Two guys still looked to be in high school, dressed in plain t-shirts with jeans and belts to hold them upright. Today was a Wednesday and Charlie suspected they were skipping because schools don't normally let out until 3 pm and as far as Charlie knew, there wasn't any holiday coming up soon. But it wasn't like it was Charlie's problem that the boys were ditching. Charlie used to ditch classes all the time when he was their age.

The other two men standing next to Charlie were older, maybe not older than Charlie but certainly not as young as the two high school punks. One man was still in a uniform and the other was in a dark brown trench coat that almost covered a red dress shirt underneath it. Charlie figured the man with the trench coat was taking the bus to meet his date or had just come back from a date and it probably didn't go too well because the man looked pretty unhappy.

Well, Charlie didn't really care either way. It wasn't his problem and certainly he wasn't going to make it his problem. He didn't give much more thought to the guy, his blue eyes finding their way back to the guy in uniform. The man had dark hair and narrowed, blue eyes. He was on his cell, chatting away happily to someone. Charlie suspected it was his wife or kid. He wasn't sure which and probably wouldn't have cared any more if he did know. His gaze was transfixed on the guy's face. It was such a pretty face. And Charlie really did like pretty things. He felt his lollipop snap in half.

The guy looked up from his cell phone. He grinned when he noticed Charlie staring and said a quick good-bye to whoever it was he had been talking to. Charlie wanted to touch his face. Was the skin as soft as it looked? The guy snapped his cell off after a moment before pocketing into his pants. "Hi, my name's Mitchell Lamburg," the guy said easily, extending his cell-phone hand out.

Charlie smiled back, a little timidly. He was going to get his wish after all. "My name's Charlie," he said before taking the hand and giving it a firm handshake. They stayed connected for a moment longer than necessary but Mitchell didn't seem to notice and Charlie didn't want to point out how weird it was when he felt like he'd just stepped foot in Heaven. His skin really was soft.

"So what do you do, Charlie?" Mitchell was saying. In the past fifteen minutes, Charlie figured out the guy liked to talk. The conversation he just had on the phone had been to his wife like Charlie had already suspected but he haven't really missed much on the wife's end because Mitchell was the one doing most the talking. Mitchell was a cop and was trying to work his way up to the FBI. Charlie supposed that being apart of the FBI was every cop's dream, not that Charlie had any objections to it though. He liked the FBI. After all, his daddy was in the FBI.

The bus came while Charlie contemplated on what to say. He had been dying to be a part of the conversation but as he climbed up into the bus with Mitchell tailing him and thought about it some more, he found that he didn't really have much to say after all. He just wanted to hear Mitchell talk and maybe stare at his pretty lil' face too.

"I work in a paper factory sometimes," he said finally, sitting down in the back seat. Mitchell sat next to him. "How long you been with your wife?"

Mitchell smiled. "Oh. We've been together for five years now," he looked out the window, then back at Charlie. He took in the man's unkempt blonde hair before looking into his eyes and winking. "What about you? Got a family of your own?"

"Got a step-mother. That count?" Charlie replied easily. He wanted to turn the conversation back to Mitchell. "So you love her?"

Mitchell laughed at the thought. "Course I do. I _am_ still married to her."

"Figured that much," Charlie muttered. Mitchell was still grinning as Charlie slumped back, looking slightly miserable. He was trying to have a serious conversation here. "Shouldn't laugh – it was an honest question."

The cop shrugged. "Sorry. I suppose it was." He scratched the back of his head. Charlie still found the man pretty. He kind of wished he could touch him again, this time his hair maybe. "Just caught me by surprise." Then the cop went quiet for a moment. Charlie noticed the hesitation. "She wants to have a baby."

Charlie wasn't sure what to say to that. He wondered if the cop even wanted him to say anything. He probably didn't. He glanced out the window and noticed his street was coming up. Charlie stood and pulled on the cord hanging from the ceiling. When the bus started to stop, Charlie looked down at Mitchell. He still wanted to touch the man's pretty face and hair.

"I'll see you later," the cop was saying to him.

Charlie smiled and nodded and got off the bus. He walked down a block and reached his apartment complex. He took the stairs up to his apartment room, opened the door and walked straight in. Charlie liked Mitchell. He liked cops. And Mitchell was right – they were going to see each other again, maybe sooner rather than later.

He walked into the kitchen and noticed a brown envelope sitting near the sink. Grabbing it and a pair of keys on the counter, he pulled on a hoodie and went back out, making sure to shut the door and lock it. Charlie owned two places, his apartment that he stayed most nights and his little suburban house kept a little ways deeper into the city, much closer to his job. He liked spending some of his off-work days there; paying off the mortgage with some of the money his step-mother sent him from time to time.

Charlie didn't like his step-mother much. She was the reason his daddy left him. But she did send him checks to make up for their more than awkward relationship and Charlie couldn't just deny money.

Charlie didn't really want to take another bus to the house and his feet still ached from all the walking he did already so he called for a cab. The whole ride over, which lasted twenty minutes, was silent and it felt extremely long. Charlie couldn't really help the fact that his thoughts were still on the cop with the pretty face. Mitchell Lamburg. He wanted to see him again. He wanted to touch his hair and skin and feel the man writhe from under him. Charlie was sure he wouldn't be so terribly hard to find. Cops usually weren't.

The car stopped at his destination and Charlie paid the man before climbing out. He walked up the empty driveway and fished for his keys that were deep in his pocket. Turning his pocket inside-out, he pulled out the key he found in his apartment and unlocked the door. He walked inside and slammed the door shut.

It was dark in the house – last time Charlie had been in here, which was just Monday; he'd turned off all the lights. Charlie didn't like leaving electricity on too much, especially when he wasn't using it at the moment. His daddy used to leave all the lights on at home, even when no one was there. He never liked that about his daddy.

Charlie walked past the living room, spying the standard black couch and lamp table, a decent sized screen TV and a radio that he had been given by a long distanced cousin that occasionally came to visit him, usually during the holidays like Christmas and Thanksgiving. He remembered thanking her for them even though it was through the use of his money and he never used them too much. Maybe the couch every now and again. But he haven't made much use of the TV or radio, at least not of late. Oh well.

There was a sloppily red painted door at the end. This was the door that led down into his cellar. Charlie opened it and walked down the stairwell. It was dimly lit down there and he wondered when he forgot to turn off all the lights. He probably just forgot because it was pretty rare for him to come down here. Charlie peered into the dark for a few moments. It didn't take too long for him to spot the wriggling tarp in the back. He pushed a few boxes out and tugged ferociously at the dark, blue tarp.

When he was able to pull it all the way out, he was staring down at two terrified women. One looked to be a teenaged girl with unwashed brown hair. She was probably very pretty earlier but Charlie had kept her down here for a few days now. The woman next to her was slumped down, face pale. She was older than her. Charlie remembered her name she'd given him before they came here. Cathleen Hansen; Cathie for short. Charlie liked Cathie more than Cathleen anyway. They both used to be very pretty.

They still looked pretty. He kicked out at the teenager. She wailed in response. But they were prostitutes. Charlie didn't like prostitutes much. They were too willing for him. It wasn't so much fun when a person gave in so easily and eagerly. Maybe it was to other people, maybe it turned them on when they saw people on their knees and begging for it…but it was different for Charlie. It just…turned him off.

He kicked her again, trying for her face. Her pretty lil' face. She started to sob and say pitiful things like, "Please stop. I'll do anything you want. Just stop." It only made Charlie want to kick her more. People like her were so stupid. So…pitiful. And pitiful people needed to be punished. Plus, Charlie got off on pain.

"Want me to stop?" he asked casually. He wasn't sure why he asked. He wasn't going to stop, wasn't planning to. And certainly, he didn't like taking orders from other people, especially from needy people. He wondered if his daddy could see him now. "Gonna beg me to stop?" He kicked her harder. Would his daddy be proud of him?

The girl wailed, tried to protect her face with her arms. But she was tied up. "I'm sorry. Whatever I did, I'm sorry." That made Charlie pause for a moment. He looked to be considering something. It made the girl slightly hopeful. "I'm really, really sorry," she sobbed. She wished the woman next to her would wake up. She didn't want to be alone with this man.

"I suppose," the man began slowly. He pursed his lips. "I'm sorry too," and before she knew it, he kicked her hard in the face. She fell back with a cry. Charlie just shook his head. He put the tarp back over them, muffling the sounds of the girl's sobs. He wasn't all that sorry to be honest. Charlie really did hate prostitutes. He turned off the light and climbed back up the stairs.

His thoughts drifted back to the cop from earlier. He wondered what the guy would say if Charlie just randomly showed him his cellar that held the girls. Boy, would that guy need one hell of a drink! Charlie laughed at his own joke.


End file.
